


Tonight's (Not) the Night

by Saesama



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Fight, F/M, Minor Kismesissitude, Misunderstandings, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saesama/pseuds/Saesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne just wanted a simple night out with her sister. Instead, she ends up playing babysitter for her drunk jackass of a coworker. <br/>Her jackass coworker that snipes her project budgets and invites her to watch bad romance movies and has really, really pretty eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>(“I found you drunk af at a bar so I took you home but you thought I wanted to have sex” AU - Shittyaus.tumblr.com)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight's (Not) the Night

Marianne dug her hands into her hair, staring at the screen of her computer. Once again, she had been forced to bicker and negotiate project budgets with the _complete prick_ that worked across the hall and, once again, she had gotten a smaller portion of the pie than she wanted to work with. The accounting crew was probably sick of their bullshit, seeing as this budget was divided based only on the number of man-hours estimated by them both. Which meant, next time, she was going to have to nudge the estimates a bit, because _Mr. King_ was absolutely going to, he was a ruthless ass and-

“They're handicapping our arguments, Springfield.” Marianne looked up at the other Senior Project Manager on her floor, her teeth bared. Bog King bared his own right back, like they were a pair of idiot dogs posturing over the food bowl. He hung over the edge of her cubicle, his arms resting on the edge and his shoulders ruched up by his ears. “Next time I get to renegotiate my contract, I'll be making a ‘don't cockblock my fights with my coworkers’ clause.”

“God forbid your oh-so-carefully-crafted reasons never see the light of day,” she said, untangling her fingers from her scalp. “Did you come all the way over here to present them anyway? I'm sure we can get someone to roleplay Accounting for us.”

“I'll pass.” His eyes darted to the side, a visual indication of him switching gears, from business asshole to… friendly asshole? Marianne didn't know what to call it, but they had an odd bond based on rock music and being salty about romance plots in movies. “The theater is having a double feature of Julia Roberts tonight, wanted to know if you wanted to go throw popcorn at the screen.”

Marianne shifted from sarcastic to delighted to dismayed. “I'm sorry,” she said, “I have plans tonight.” Which was too bad; lampooning bad (romantic) movies was a favorite past time, and Bog had proven himself a wonderfully bitter partner in crime in the past. Disappointment flickered across his face, his shoulders drawing up a bit, and Marianne’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Google says there’s a new teen comedy out, we can go tomorrow and be that one angry middle-aged couple in the last row, yelling at the kids in the back for groping each other.”

Bog’s mouth slanted into a grin of pure delighted malice. “I knew there was a reason I haven't tried to get you fired,” he said, ignoring Marianne’s outraged splutters. He straightened and gave her a very polite nod. “I'll meet you at the theater.”

Marianne threw a balled-up post-it at him, her scowl deepening when he batted it away. “Noon showing. I'll get the tickets, but you're buying the popcorn.”

o o o

“Don’t do it.”

“But Marianne!”

“I’m not going to stop you. But don’t do it.”

“It’s pretty!”

“It’s going to punch you in the gut tomorrow morning. _Don’t do it._ ”

Dawn sighed and scrolled past the overly-colorful cocktail. Her disappointment lifted a little when she had to scroll past the _long_ list of ingredients, her eyes growing wider with every liquor she passed. Marianne sipped her soda with an ‘I told you so’ smile. She should have let Dawn get the thing; it would be a good life lesson on not buying a drink for the looks. But alas, she wanted her sister to have a good night for her first Night Out and that included her not dying of a hangover the next day.

Beside her, Sunny made Anxious Sunny noises, absently pinching his own cheek as he stared at the wine menu. “Marianne,” he said. “What’s a… Ruou Mat Ran?”

“Oh man, they have that back in stock?” She leaned over to peer upside-down at the menu. “That stuff’s pretty good.” She looked up at Sunny, allowing her evilest smile to cross her face. “It’s make with snake bile.” Sunny paled. “ _Cobra_ bile, to be specific.”

“Stop it,” Dawn chided, punching Marianne in the shoulder. “You’re being a jerk.”

“I’m dead serious,” Marianne said, sitting back with her hands up. “Google it.”

Sunny closed the menu and scooted it away across the tabletop with one finger. “I think I’ll stick with the liquor menu,” he said. “They don’t have any snake puke whiskey, do they?”

“They have a tequila with worms in it.”

“Mari _anne!_ ”

Eventually, they figured out what they wanted and Marianne cooed and fluttered her eyes at them when they got up to order. Her little baby nuisances, all grown up and ordering booze. They made faces at her teasing and walked off and Marianne shifted into protective momma rottweiler mode. It was still early, but the bar was pretty full and Dawn was a precious angel baby and while Sunny could kick a man in the face hard enough to make him swallow his own teeth, he was also like three inches tall and not very intimidating.

“Weeell. What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

The drawl was so obnoxious and thick that it had to be fake. Marianne twisted in her chair and looked up - and _up_ \- at ninety miles of legs and hunched shoulders and a crooked grin. “Asshole,” she complained, kicking her coworker and sometimes-friend in the side of his boot. 

Bog dropped into the seat across from her with far less than his usual dexterity. “It’s an honest question,” he said. “Don’t tell me you skipped out on Julia Roberts to rejoin the dating game. I thought better of you .”

Bog’s accent was usually a mild rolling on some syllables. Now, it was thick enough to walk on, and she squinted at him. “Mr. King, are you drunk?”

“Fucking plastered,” he replied cheerfully.

“Joy,” she said dryly. She sipped her soda and scanned the bar. Sunny and Dawn were waiting on their drinks, Sunny curled protectively around Dawn’s side. If they ever started dating, Marianne wasn’t sure she’d be able to stomach their cuteness. She jerked her chin at the bar. “My kid sister’s of age - finally - and I’m playing babysitter. And I’m offended you thought I’d be here to pick up a date. Who do you think I am?”

Bog followed her gaze over to the bar and blanched a bit. “And that’ll be my cue to go,” he said, standing too fast, and it was alarming to watch a man that tall sway like that. 

“What, Dawn?” Marianne gave him a look of disbelief. “You met Dawn at the company picnic last month.”

“I know,” Bog replied, with a sour grimace. “Unlike you, she _likes_ me, without a trace of irony. And she kept trying to convince me to ask you out on, and I quote, ‘a real date, not getting kicked out of the theater for yelling at the on-screen couple’.”

Marianne’s mouth fell open. “That little _heathen_ ,” she hissed. “Us yelling at movie romances is a sacred part of this whole hate-friend thing.”

“According to her, I need to bring a bouquet next time.” He sketched a little salute, while Marianne’s face did horrid things at the idea of Bog bringing her _flowers_. “If you need rescuing, shriek like the harridan you are.”

“My knight in rusty armor,” Marianne simpered, batting her eyes. Bog snorted and made his way back to his table. The little ones made it back to the table with their drinks and another soda. Score one for the new adults.

The night carried on. Bog occasionally caught her eye across the bar and held up his glass in sarcastic salute. Marianne disguised as many rude gestures as she could think of as taking drinks of her soda. The baby duo danced. Marianne drank more soda and stared down anyone that got too close to her table. The baby duo worked up the courage to buy shots of rum. Marianne took a picture of their faces immediately following. The baby duo talked each other into buying way-too-pretty sugarbomb drinks. Marianne sighed and forced water on them both for the next round in a vain attempt to mitigate some of the aftermath. 

The baby duo got drunk. The entire night was instantly worth it.

“Didja knoooow,” Dawn hummed, hanging around Marianne’s neck. “You’re, like, the _best_ big sister ever?”

“Yeah,” Sunny sighed, his cheek smooshed against Marianne’s other shoulder. “You’re amaaaazing.”

“This is the best night of my life,” Marianne said. “I’m taking video, I hope you know.”

“We’re gonna be famous,” Sunny said, wistful and dreamy. “Dawn, if Marianne’s video goes viral and we get famous, will you marry me?”

“Hell yea,” Dawn replied, downing the rest of her water. “We’ll be the new Kardashians.” She grimaced and stood with the care of a newborn drunk. “Ugh, after I go potty.” She leaned in close to Marianne, her eyes very wide and solemn. “No video while I’m in the potty.”

“Cross my heart,” Marianne promised. “You need help?”

“I got this.” Dawn waved her hand as she walked off, walking in a mostly straight line. Good for her.

“Marianne,” Sunny whispered, his eyes wide and unfocused. “She said she’d _marry me._ ” 

Oh boy.

“I gotta buy a ring.”

Ohhh boy.

“Ask her when you’re both sober,” she suggested. Poor guy. She knew he had it bad, but _damn._

Sunny made more Distressed Sunny noises, dragging his hand down his face. Marianne patted him on the back and looked off towards the bathroom for Dawn. Dawn wasn’t drunk enough to fall into a toilet (yet) so she should be-

She was already halfway back across the bar. And someone was moving to intercept her.

Every warning bell in Marianne’s head went off at one time. Sunny’s Distressed Sunny noises turned into Panicky Sunny noises when Marianne surged up from her seat. He followed her line of sight and Marianne was damn proud of the way his expression snapped from baffled to protective (mostly) platonic bro mode. Only wavering a bit, he came out of his seat right on Marianne’s heels and followed her on her rescue mission.

Whoever the jerk was that stopped Dawn, she was clearly having none of it. Dawn was friendly by nature, but this guy was being an ass, very much in her space and she kept trying to get past him, her smile bright but wearing at the edges, until he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her in for a dance and Marianne saw red. She heard a rare and appreciated Angry Sunny noise from over her shoulder and her fingers curled into a fist and-

Bog got there first.

He came up from his seat like an oversized jack-in-the-box, his fist a clean line drive past Dawn and straight into the shelf of the asshole’s jaw, punctuated by a solid _’thwack!’_ and an incomprehensible snarl. The jerk went down like a felled tree and if Marianne wasn’t so angry, she might have cheered. Bog stood over him, hunched and glowering right up until Dawn threw her arms around his waist. His snarling cut off with a croak and he gave Marianne the best ‘help me’ face she'd ever seen.

“Marianne!” Dawn squealed, as soon as there was less than a table between them. “Boggy’s here and he's my new best friend!”

Bog scowled down at her and tried to - gently - pry her away. Dawn just held on tighter and Marianne bit her knuckle to keep from laughing in his face. “Dawn,” she tried, “he can't be your best friend if you squeeze him until his head pops off.”

“Oh!” Bog’s shoulders sank in relief when she let him go, which just put his face in grabbing range. Dawn cupped his cheeks and tipped his head side to side, making sure it was still connected. “My hero,” she whispered, and Marianne would relish the sight of caustic, cantankerous Bog King _blushing_ for the rest of her life.

“Hoo boy,” Sunny muttered. “I got Dawn, bouncer on your left.”

Marianne tuned and yup, a walking mountain of frowns and bad tattoos was stomping across the bar. Sunny slipped in behind Dawn and started to untangle her from the increasingly flustered Bog. Marianne sighed through her nose and forced her hands to uncurl as the bouncer came up. “We're out, I'm guessing?”

The bouncer harrumphed. “I saw the asshole grab her, and that was way too good a shot to press charges over,” he rumbled, pitching his voice to not carry. “Get them outta here and don't come back for about a month.”

“Gotcha.” Marianne clapped her hands briskly. “All right, kids, the idiot train is leaving the station. Everyone on board.” She gave Bog a hard look. “You too, new best friend.”

Bog only made minimal protests as he was practically frog marched out of the bar, Dawn giggling under one arm and Sunny enthusiastically reenacting the punch under the other. “I don't-” he protested, swaying back when Sunny's fist streaked past his cheek. “This isn't-”

Marianne turned to walk backwards, her smile as sweet and merciless as she could make it. “You saved one of the Precious Babies,” she told him. “You're inducted into the family. Brace yourself for hugs.”

“Hugs!” Dawn repeated, loud enough that Bog winced. She threw her arms around Bog’s waist again and Sunny mirrored her, their hands gripping each others sleeves with an increasingly uncomfortable Bog squished in the middle. Marianne got her phone out in time to take a picture.

Eventually, Marianne took pity on her coworker and unwrapped him from his drunken baby duo trap and herded them into the backseat of her car. Bog leaned against the trunk, calmed and visibly swaying. Marianne planted her fist on her hip and held out her other hand. “Keys,” she ordered. “You can come back tomorrow and get your car.”

“Didn't drive,” he said, but he handed her his keys anyway, with a solemnity that made her bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Are you offering a ride?”

“Guess I am,” she shrugged. “In.”

“Yes’m.” It was weird, seeing him so docile. It probably had to do with the fact that he was past drunk and somewhere in low earth orbit, but it was hilarious and kind of adorable anyway. Herding Sunny and Dawn back out and into their apartment was significantly more difficult. Rather than fight either of them into bed, she left them on the couch and made sure there were painkillers set out on the coffee table. They made baby bird noises at her and used each other as pillows and they _really_ needed to figure each other out sometime. Later.

Bog was still in Marianne’s car when she left the apartment, his head tipped back against the headrest, humming tunelessly at the ceiling. “Your chariot awaits,” he said as she got in, aiming a vague wave at the steering wheel. “Where to, shepherd of drunken kittens?”

“Wherever you’re going,” she replied. “Where do you stay?”

“Up by University campus,” he said, his hand bouncing in time to a song only he heard. 

Marianne turned towards him, her jaw dropping. “The campus is two hours away.”

“Mhm. Didn’t feel like making the commute tonight.” He frowned, scratching at his chin. “Was gonna get a hotel, I think.”

“Great.” Marianne sighed and thumped her forehead on the steering wheel. “You can stay at my place; all of the hotels around here are stupid expensive.”

Bog finally looked at her, squinting. “Scandalous,” he said. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Marianne spluttered, her face gone scarlet. Aside from the occasional comment about being a bitter old couple with 90 cats and a shotgun, their hate-friend-thing had a very strict no-flirting-not-even-fake-joke-innuendo clause built in. “I have a _couch_ ,” she growled, trying to save face, and she put her car in drive with significantly more vehemence than was necessary. “One long enough to fit even you.” Bog snorted in disbelief and tilted his head back again. Marianne considered dumping him on the sidewalk. But if he got mugged she’d never get popcorn tomorrow. 

A still-humming Bog followed her from the parking garage to the elevator. He was good at hiding how out of it he was, better than Marianne would ever be, but he practically had to sit on the handrail to keep from falling over when the elevator started moving. She did not envy the hangover he’d have in the morning. She suspected that all of the snarl and spite he was missing now would return, with interest.

He also normally avoided people like the plague, but now he watched her from the corner of his eye with a quiet intensity, his gaze sharp and very blue. She did her best to ignore it.

He stumbled once in the hall to her apartment and Marianne caught his elbow on instinct. He caught himself and his head snapped up at her touch, that intense blue cranked up to eleven, his lips parted, the wiry muscle in his forearm tense under her hands. Marianne blushed and dropped his arm with a mumbled “Sorry” and unlocked her apartment door.

“Shoes off,” she ordered, kicking her own flats into the half-open closet by the door. “Couch is there; let me get you a blanket and some water, god knows you’ll need it.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Marianne turned around, her query dying in her throat at the way he was looking at her; his brows were drawn down but not angry, more like hooded, casting deep shadows around his too-bright eyes. “I mean,” he continued, gesturing slightly, “If you insist, I’m not going to say ‘no’; you’re gorgeous and I am only so strong. But.” He sighed, a sound of mingled regret and wistfulness and his eyes _burned_. “But this is awful much for a thank you. At least wait until I’m sober, that way I can make it worth your time.”

Marianne stared at him, trying to parse his meaning. He thought- He was- Realization hit like a truck and Marianne’s cheeks went scarlet. “I didn’t bring you back here to sleep with you!” she snapped, her voice high with mortification and (did he really think she was gorgeous?) outrage. “Especially not as a ‘thank you’. I mean, yeah, thanks for saving Dawn, but come on!”

Bog did frown at that, confused. “Then why insist on taking me home with you?” 

“Because you live two hours away and it’s late!”

“I said I have a hotel!”

“You said you were _thinking_ of getting one, not that you had one!”

“Oh.” He had to pause and think for a moment, faintly swaying. “So, we’re not sleeping together.”

“No.” Marianne didn’t think her face could get any hotter.

Bog nodded slowly. “That’s… That’s good.” Marianne had never seen relief and disappointment so thoroughly mixed in one person’s expression before. Bog’s lips thinned, then he let out a huffed, sardonic laugh. “S’for the best, then,” he said, waving his hand at his own face. “No one should have to force herself on this hideous mug out of gratitude.”

“You’re not hideous,” Marianne said immediately, without thinking. Bog stared at her, completely nonplussed, and she bit her lip. Never mind, her face could _totally_ get hotter. “Well, you're _not_. You're an asshole, but you're not ugly.”

“Which one of us is drunk again?” Bog demanded. “I must be remembering wrong.”

Marianne threw up her hands. “This is stupid. We’re both stupid.”

“Am I to agree or disagree?”

Marianne pointed at him. “You’re to shut up and go to sleep,” she ordered. “We’ll continue this when you’re sober.”

“Hm.” Bog considered this for a long moment, then made his unsteady way to the couch. Marianne grabbed a blanket out of her closet and a glass of water out of the kitchen and she nearly dropped both when she got back to the living room. Bog was shirtless, his shirt folded neatly on the coffee table, and he was laying his socks on top with all of the focus and care he could muster. Her eyes skated over the broad planes of his back and she very briefly wondered how he'd look with the marks of her nails on his skin. 

And then she wanted to punch herself in the face. Okay, sure, it had been forever, but seriously, Marianne was not _desperate_. Certainly not desperate enough to want to sleep with her drunk asshole of a coworker. Her asshole coworker who thought she was gorgeous, who had decked a man to save her sister, who always bought the popcorn with extra salt because she mentioned once that she liked it like that, who was sitting shirtless on her couch with that look of relieved disappointment and _no, Marianne, this was not helping_.

“I've still got your keys,” she blurted out, for lack of anything witty to say. “You're not leaving until I know you're sober.”

“Oh joy,” Bog sighed. “House arrest. When do you skip the pleasantries and hide my face in the freezer?”

“Way later,” Marianne retorted. She could handle this, their usual stupid snarking. This was okay, this was _safe_. “After you buy the popcorn.”

“Ah. Right. Well.” His eyes came up and he didn't look drunk, he looked a little sad and a little lost and very, very wanting. For just a breath, an invitation sat on the tip of Marianne's tongue, and it was only the fact that he _was_ drunk that stopped her, because she couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her like that. And then that crooked, sardonic smile came back, a little too soft at the edges. “Thank you, Springfield. Marianne. Thank you, Marianne.”

His brief pride at using her first name was obvious and weirdly adorable again. Marianne huffed a little laugh and dumped the blanket over the back of the couch. “You're welcome. Good night.” She could just leave it at that. “Bog.”

Or not, and when she went to her room, she tried to not think of how he had lit up at her use of his name.

O o o

Bog King was not always a fan of himself, but waking up with a hangover was a sure-fire way to put himself at the top of his own shit-list.

He let out a very pained, not-at-all-pathetic groan into whatever surface he’d landed on. The surface did not respond, a silent supportive friend and about the only thing in his limited sphere of awareness that wasn’t spinning. He was never leaving this couch. This couch loved him and wanted him to be happy.

This couch belonged to Marianne.

That thought was enough to wake him up completely. Filtered sunlight stabbed him in the eyes as he blinked. He stared at the coffee table and the glass of water sitting beside an innocent bottle of ibuprofen and thought about how he didn’t deserve kindness after making such a spectacular ass of himself.

Gingerly, he sat up and reached for the pill bottle. Memory was a terrible thing, and he’d never managed to drink enough to lose track of what he’d done under the influence (if for no other reason than his size made it prohibitively expensive to drink that much) Memory was also a malicious bastard who flounced back in at the worst times, like when he was trying to figure out a child safety cap. He remembered every word he’d said to Marianne the previous day, from asking her to a movie (she’d always asked in the past, and it took him the entire budget meeting to work up the courage to take the initiative) to thanking her before he passed out (and staring at her like a stupid fucking moron stared at a goddess so out of his league it was laughable they were in the same room and conversing)

The bottle yielded and he dumped a few of the little brown tablets into his hand. He’d gone out with the intention of talking himself into maybe asking Marianne If she wanted to grab dinner after the movie (no flowers, he didn’t care _what_ Dawn said, but he might have been able to convince himself to drape his arm around her at the theater or something) It was almost like his less-than-sober thoughts had summoned her to the bar and set up the ridiculous chain of events that had planted him on her couch.

But still, invite or no (idiotic pining or no) he had zero reason to assume Marianne had dragged him back to her place for thank-you sex and he was a complete ass for thinking so. What had seemed like a perfectly rational thought process the night before (she _had_ been the one to always ask him to the movies) was definitely egotistical and asinine in the light of day. He tossed the pills into his mouth and chugged down the glass of water and wondered how he was ever going to apologize. 

“If you want breakfast, you have to be wearing pants at a minimum and make it to the table under your own power.”

Bog choked mid-gulp (thankfully not spraying water everywhere) and twisted around. Marianne stood in her tiny kitchen, a spatula in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. Now that his awareness had expanded beyond the bounds of the couch, he could hear the sizzle of bacon. 

Marianne was wearing yoga pants. Bog wanted to jump out of the window.

He managed to grunt something affirmative and reached for his shirt (why did he only fold his clothes when he was drunk, _why_?) Buttons were too much effort and he shuffled over to the table with his shirt hanging open. There was more water here. There was also a whole new angle on Marianne, slim and relaxed as she flipped pancakes. He should have stayed on the couch.

“Your hair is amazing when you first wake up,” she said over her shoulder. She didn’t sound mad at him, which made him feel even worse. He deserved her anger. He certainly didn’t deserve a plate of slightly-undercooked bacon and slightly-overcooked pancakes to land in front of him.

Marianne sat on the counter instead of across from him, her own plate balanced on her knees. Bog sighed through his nose and picked up his fork. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse with the remnants of whatever he’d drunk the night before.

“For the compliment or the pancakes?” Marianne joked. Bog couldn’t muster up more than a half-hearted chuckle in reply and Marianne’s smile slipped. “Look,” she said, poking her pancakes with her fork. “I’m not mad, okay? I’m not. I swear.”

“You should be,” Bog replied, his eyes on his plate. “I was a right ass towards you and-”

“Nope, not playing this game,” Marianne interrupted. “I’m not mad and I’m not gonna get mad, okay? Unless.” Her eyes dropped and she shrugged, her cheeks pink. “Unless you try and tell me that you didn’t mean what you said, then I’m just gonna be offended.”

Bog still had to be asleep. There was no other explanation. He stared at Marianne, half-eaten food forgotten on his plate. “Excuse me?”

Marianne shrugged again. Her cheeks were scarlet. “It’s pretty flattering, you know?” she said, like this was a completely normal conversation. “Especially since you always go out of your way to dissuade people from being interested in you. It’s like, what did I do to be special?”

“You’re you,” Bog said, without even thinking about filtering himself. Marianne’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, and Bog forced himself to not look away. “It’s. It’s enough.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and pushed away from the table. “I did mean everything I said,” he told the couch as he walked towards it and his socks. “Unfortunately. Look, I’m sorry, for everything. I’ll let you be now.” 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Bog heard Marianne’s feet slap to the floor a second before he was yanked backwards by his collar. He flailed half a step and sat down hard on the couch, his temper almost spiking before he remembered that he didn’t have any right to get mad. “We still have a movie to go see,” Marianne continued, circling the couch to glare down at him, her arms crossed. “And you still owe me popcorn, remember?”

Bog couldn’t help sneering up at her. “Yes, because this won’t be completely awkward and uncomfortable for us both,” he snapped.

Marianne’s scowl slipped into something… else. “It doesn’t have to be,” she pointed out. And then she threw everything Bog knew out the window by straddling his lap, her hands on his shoulders. “I’m damaged goods,” she admitted, twirling a finger along the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “But I hear a steamy workplace affair adds spice to life.”

“What.” His voice cracked. He wanted to crawl under the couch and stay forever. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to wake up and he never wanted to leave this dream. Gingerly, he settled his hands on her waist, baffled and amazed when she didn’t flinch away. “You, you’re serious.”

“As serious as ill-advised workplace affairs get,” she replied. Her lips brushed over the ridge of his cheekbone and he could feel both her smile and her nervous shaking. “We’re going to the movies,” she said. “And then we’re going to come back here, because I might owe you a ‘thank you’.”

“Okay,” he croaked, hardly daring to speak out of fear of waking himself up. But Marianne didn’t fade away into a fantasy and a headache. She did get up, her hands trailing down along his bared collar bones, and the look she gave him made his throat want to seize. He swallowed as subtly as he could and Marianne walked into her room to change.

He was buying the biggest popcorn the theater had. Maybe even flowers.


End file.
